The Killer's Kiss

9. Her lies

Hamza's heart skipped a beat when he saw Hasna step out to greet him. Even though she tried to hide it, he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks as she handed the hijab to Khala. A pang of disappointment struck him when she didn't acknowledge him directly, though her excitement and love for Khala were evident in her eyes.

"Khala, look at this. I made it for you," Hasna said softly, her voice sweet as she presented the hijab.

Khala's face lit up with joy as she examined the delicate stitching. "It's beautiful. But you should attend to your husband first. He's come home after so many days. You must have missed him."

Hasna's brows furrowed in defense. "I didn't miss anyone. Please don't spread the wrong information about me," she retorted before turning to leave.

Hamza felt a sting at her words. "But...Ha..." Khala began, trying to stop her.

"Let it be, Khala," Hamza interrupted, his voice calm, though there was a trace of hurt. "She's upset with me because I didn't call."

Hasna halted, surprised that he had recognized her feelings. Their eyes met for a moment, and Hamza felt a flutter in his chest. But just as quickly, Hasna turned away, crossing her arms.

"Why would I be upset with you? I don't care whether you call or not. Don't give yourself so much importance," she replied, her voice firm.

"Really?" Hamza asked, searching for any hint of affection in her tone.

"Yes," Hasna said, her voice unwavering.

"Then why did you come out when I arrived?" Hamza pressed, wanting to understand her true feelings.

"Huh... I came out to show Khala this hijab. Who told you I came out for you?" Hasna's tone was defensive, though Hamza caught a hint of hesitation.

"So you wanted to show her the unstitched hijab?" he teased, a grin spreading across his face.

Hasna's eyes widened as she realized she had forgotten to finish the hijab. Embarrassment colored her cheeks, but Hamza found the sight endearing.

"So what? Keep imagining. I don't care about you at all. Not even a tiny bit," Hasna insisted, turning on her heel to walk away.

"But I missed you. A lot," Hamza called after her, his voice softening. "There was no network, my dear wife. That's why I couldn't call."

Hasna didn't stop, but her heart raced. She could feel a smile creeping onto her face, a new emotion warming her from within. But then, as quickly as it came, terror gripped her, and the smile faded, replaced by a cloud of gloom that settled over her.

Hasna returned to her sewing, trying to lose herself in the task. Hamza entered the room shortly after, but she paid him no attention. He went to the washroom, and when he came back, fresh from washing up, he watched her for a moment. She looked so focused, yet he knew her thoughts were miles away.

He walked over to her as she finished stitching. She looked at the completed hijab, proud of her work. Hamza leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, I think you missed a stitch..."

Hasna frowned. "Where?" She began searching the fabric.

"In my heart."

She looked up at him, startled, her mouth slightly open in shock. "Have you gone mad?" she asked, trying to suppress a smile.

Hamza chuckled. "Maybe just a little."

"Look, I brought gifts for you," he said, changing the subject.

Hasna pretended to be disinterested as Hamza unpacked his suitcase, which was brimming with gifts. He had brought her everything—a selection of clothing, accessories, makeup, and headscarves.

"These are all for me?" Hasna asked, her disbelief slipping through her act.

Hamza replied with mock seriousness, "No, they're for Khala. She'll wear them for me."

Hasna frowned. "But she doesn't wear this kind of clothing. You should have brought something simpler."

"Sorry, I'll keep that in mind next time... for someone with no brains," Hamza teased.

"Why would I have bought these for her?" he added, picking up a piece of lingerie.

Hasna snatched it from his hand, embarrassed. Hamza continued, "From now on, wear these. I don't like the ones you have."

She blushed and frowned again but said nothing, choosing to focus on her new belongings. As she examined a bright red dress, Hamza added, "It's a nightie."

"For whom?" she asked incredulously.

"For me," he replied with a grin.

"I mean, I don't wear things like that."

"Then start wearing them," Hamza suggested, his tone light but insistent.

"No," she replied firmly.

"Okay, then wear nothing. That's even better," he joked with a wink.

Hasna rolled her eyes, a blush rising to her cheeks. "When did you become so shameless?" she asked, trying to scold him playfully.

Hamza grinned and took her hands in his. "I don't see anything shameless here. I'm just asking my wife, not the neighbor's wife," he replied, still teasing.

Hasna couldn't help but smile at his playful banter. "You were a decent man before. I wonder what happened to you," she joked back.

Hamza chuckled, leaning in to touch their foreheads together. "I missed you," he said softly.

"I didn't miss you," Hasna retorted, though the smile on her face betrayed her true feelings.

"Liar," Hamza said with a grin, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, and they stayed like that, lost in each other's eyes until their hearts overflowed with a sense of belonging and love.

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Hamza stirred awake in the middle of the night to find Hasna thrashing in her sleep, her face twisted in distress as if she were battling an unseen enemy. Her whimpers filled the otherwise silent room, tugging at his heart. He sat up, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, hoping to soothe her.

To his shock, she began to mutter in her sleep, her words like a knife slicing through him. "I have murdered them. I am a murderer. Yes, I killed them. All seven."

Hasna's eyes flew open, and she gasped for air, clutching her chest as if trying to calm a racing heart. Hamza pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her trembling body. But as she looked up at him, fear flickered in her eyes, and she recoiled from his touch.

"Stay away from me," she said, moving to the farthest corner of the room. Her clothes clung to her, soaked in sweat and tears.

Hamza tried to approach her, but her eyes widened in terror. "Stop, don't move," she cried, pulling a knife from the nearby drawer.

Hamza's heart pounded as he saw the blade glinting in the dim light. "Hasna, what are you doing?"

"I am a murderer," she confessed, her voice trembling. "Don't come near me. I will kill you."

Hamza knew she wasn't in her right mind, and it broke his heart to see her like this. He tried to reason with her, but she wasn't listening.

Suddenly, Hasna placed the knife against her own neck, threatening to harm herself. Hamza's fear spiked, but he knew he had to act quickly. He approached her cautiously, took the knife from her shaking hand, and tossed it away. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she broke into sobs.

Through her tears, she kept repeating, "I am a murderer. Why are you being so nice to me? I am a murderer."

Hamza's heart ached as he held her close, wishing he could take away her pain. "Stop lying to yourself," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You're not a murderer. You're the most beautiful, kind-hearted person I know. I'm just grateful to have you in my life. Maybe you've forgotten me, but I could never forget you."